Page 31 of Dearest Ronan

As I let my feelings shimmer, I realize it doesn't matter if she’s always had a crush on me. When she moved in as my ward, I was appropriate to her, and our relationship never took a sexual overtone until years after she moved out.

Yes, she’s fifteen years younger than I am, but fifteen years or not, we are both adults. At that, adults who did not pursue a relationship until she left my home.

And goddammit, it’s not like my balls are that wrinkly. By all normal standards, I’m still pretty young. Since when has thirty-five become ancient?

I’m young, but she is even younger. That, therein, is the problem. While I refuse to view myself as predatory, I also refuse to trap my butterfly in a cage.

I shuffle through the letters, reading them carefully. I’d memorize them if I could. It’s the letter Anika wrote at eighteen that pains me the most. I learned she moved out because she caught Carolyn and I having sex.

Bile creeps up my throat. Anika and I were nothing but guardian and ward at the time, but I still hate knowing she heard us. She’s always been a beautiful girl, but my attraction to her didn’t start until recently. So why does it break my heart that teenage Anika watched my soon-to-be former wife and I together?

Because in a way she’s always been mine, even if she wasn’t yet.

I thin my lips. When we married, never did I consider divorce a possibility. I loved Carolyn. Maybe I even still love parts of her. At least, the parts of our early days.

When Carolyn and I moved into our quaint little house with three bedrooms, one bathroom, and an unfinished basement, her face lit up at the possibilities. Her fingers trailed along the wall, as if leaving pieces of herself in our new home that we both picked out. Her eyes sparkled when I came home from a grueling day of work, so eager to make love and spend the night with a thin sheet draped over our prone bodies in bed.

Memories may be fickle, but not about this. Not about our love and excitement for the future.

I loved Carolyn Steele, formally Sunko, with every ounce of my being.

Until I didn’t.

How did we get here? Was it when we learned Carolyn can’t carry children? Or when her insatiable need to expand our house overtook over lives? How about when I had an inkling that Carolyn resented our foster daughter?

Of course, I know it’s not just Carolyn’s fault.

I failed, too.

I never learned to put my foot down. We couldn’t afford additions and enlisting her father to loan us the money wasn’t what I wanted either. It was like Carolyn thought her body failed us with her fertility, and I thought I failed us by not keeping my wife happy with what we have.

She coped by replacing biological children with additional square footage, and I coped by covering my ears and pretending it wasn’t happening.

Now look at us: sitting with our lawyers during our last stage of divorce. Husband of the year, right here.

My fingers tingle in anticipation as my lawyer hands me a plain black ink pen. I can’t help but glance at my wife, watching her with bated breath as if she’s the one with the decision to make.

Her blonde hair is in a high ponytail, with tiny strands framing her face. It looks accidental, but nothing with her is. Her bright red lips press into a thin line as she stares at the pen in my hand—watching. Aren’t we both? Watching, I mean.

Waiting. Expecting.

Much how I expected to never divorce her. If she hadn’t filed the paperwork first, would we even be having this conversation right now? As it’s previously known, Carolyn does nothing accidentally. She filed for divorce, hoping I’d give in to every whim. In my gut, I know she hoped I’d beg to keep her and promise her the biggest castle on the hill.

My stomach churns uneasily, and my lawyer coughs not-so-subtly. But I’m not done. Thinking, that is. Anika reminds me who I am.

I hadn’t realized how trapped I’ve been in this marriage until Anika opened my cage. That’s the real question, isn’t it? Do I stay out of my cage, or return to the confines of my existence and continue playing by society’s expectations?

If my Anika returns to me after experiencing more life, I’ll take her back with open arms. Scratch that. I’dbegfor her to take me back once she returns.

Isn’t it ridiculous that I can’t stop thinking about Anika on the day of my divorce? I hadn’t expected to fall for her. In fact, I actively avoided it. However, how can I not when we fit perfectly together?

Gripping the pen tighter, I finally lift it enough to move it over the paper. I’m strong enough to do this without Anika, but I still wish she was here.

Carolyn’s bright blue eyes watch me. She’s on the edge of her seat, staring at my hand like it’s possessed. And that’s how I know.

Our love goes beyond me, beyond Carolyn, our nonexistent newborn, and our foster daughter Anika. There is one truth among it all: Carolyn and I are no longer right for each other.

I can’t pretend everything is okay, like I did in the past. Nor should she settle with arguments about how she wants to live her life. If she wants the castle on top of the hill, she deserves it, but that’s not me.

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